


Standard Hero Reward

by FeoplePeel, jack_the_giantkiller



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Inquisitor Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_the_giantkiller/pseuds/jack_the_giantkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Hero gets quest. Hero saves day. Hero gets her man.</p><p>Or dwarf, as the case may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standard Hero Reward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moenochrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moenochrome/gifts).



> For the prompt(s): AU where Hawke becomes Inquisitor, despite Varric's insistence she stay away from the Conclave, and their interactions with the other companions./More exploring Blood Mage Hawke and Varric's reaction to discovering it.
> 
> I tried to weave in a little about blood magic, but since I never played a blood mage Hawke, I never spent a lot of time headcanoning how they would handle the events of the game from that perspective. It was really fun to give it a shot so I hope you enjoy what’s there!
> 
> So many kudos to revolutionjack, for lending mind and time for some truly spectacular ideas, gave me a lot of direction, and beta'd the crap out of this.

**Cassandra**

_The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. **Except** for you._

Cassandra, who had been walking ahead of her straight-backed and eyes ahead, seemed to lose her footing for a moment.

“I do not believe you came with ill intent, Champion. But this looks...”

When Hawke had awoken on the stone-floored cell, the smell of bitter iron in her nose and a tight pain behind her eyes, it had taken her an embarrassingly long time to realise she wasn’t at the Keep.

She had even called for Aveline before the Seeker and the Sister burst in to kick her while she was down.

“No, no, I understand. I show up, buildings fall. It’s becoming a bit of a habit.” Hawke glanced at her hand. “Though I will say, this part’s new.”

Hawke pressed into her palm and winced. It didn’t _hurt_ , necessarily. It was a ghostly feeling, as though the space around her hand sucked the air from the world entirely. Her head grew fuzzy for a moment.

“I should let you know that Varric Tethras did vouch for you.”

“Protecting his friends, that's his thing.” She grinned, trying desperately not to think about how it was once her thing as well…and how very quickly they were running out of people to protect.

“Your… friend has lied to us before.” Cassandra pursed her lips. “We have no reason to trust him now. Particularly where you are involved.”

Hawke stared at the ice, crushed beneath her boots.

"You lost a friend?" She watched Cassandra flinch. "For what it’s worth I _am_ sorry."

"That is...I," Cassandra held her elbow, face red from the sentiment or the chill, Hawke didn't know. "Thank you. Varric was not so considerate."

Hawke snorted. "Were you the one who clapped me in irons?" Cassandra nodded. "No, he wouldn’t be."

* * *

“Out of the way.” She felt herself pulled down into a hug. “You’re all right.”

“I told you I would release her when my questions had been satisfactorily answered.” This was said by Cassandra, in a harried voice. This was obviously a subject of greater debate than Hawke had been led to believe.

“Excuse me if I wasn’t inclined to believe you." Varric pulled away to snarl at the Seeker. Hawke had regained her balance when he turned on her. “What in the void were you thinking, Hawke?”

She kept her hands on Varric's shoulders, staring up at the large tear in the sky. “That’s…something, isn’t it, Varric?”

Varric sighed, used to her side-stepping his concerns. "Yeah. Showed up a couple of days ago.” He lowered his voice. “You should have stayed _gone_. I could have handled this.”

“Hm,” she finally looked down at him, “that doesn’t sound like me.”

Varric's smile was, for the most part, one of resignation. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

 

**Solas and Dorian**

Hawke came upon Solas and Dorian talking, as they often did. Scholarly, a touch heated, and terribly dull.

Today she stopped, as _she_ was the subject of their intellectual pursuits.

“...I enjoy a good scandal, but blood magic? That surprises me.”

“I am more surprised you don’t approve.”

“Ha ha, yes all Tevinter mages use blood magic. That joke never gets old.”

“Who said I was joking?”

Dorian ignored him. “I was always taught blood magic is the last resort of the weak mind, yet her skills, her _control_ , paint a different picture. She is no sinister miscreant, tearing open the veil, sacrificing her companions.” He paused. “Or at least she hasn’t asked me for _my_ blood. Has she asked you? I’d feel a bit left out then.”

“Blood magic is merely another form of magic. More powerful, certainly, than others, provided it remains a tool not a crutch nor a passion.”

“Like fadewalking?” Dorian’s voice had an edge.

“Or necromancy, yes.”

Hawke coughed and two heads turned. She had learned from her own friends how quickly a seemingly friendly discussion could turn to a weeks-long pissing contest.

“Hello, boys.” she smiled her most pleasant smile. She could nearly hear her teeth gleam. “Not interrupting anything important, am I?”

“Hawke.” Solas tilted his head in greeting.

“Our illustrious leader graces us with her presence.” Hawke gave a small bow, only to watch Dorian’s lips quirk. “We were discussing your curious decision to use blood magic.”

“Decision?”

“Yes…” Dorian said, slowly.

_People always have a choice._

Was it her mother who had said it? Or Fenris? Arguing with Merrill, perhaps. Hawke had always been very careful around him about that.

Was it her own words? Had she ever thought it to herself, even once?

Decision. What _choice_ did she have? Enemies drew their blades, cast their spells, and she took them down. What did it matter if she used lightning or blood?

There was a time her father had used blood magic and it wasn’t his decision at all.

“It matters only in how it is used.” Solas’ voice broke through her thoughts.

Hawke blinked. They were _still_ talking about this?

“You’ve been around us long enough to know our feelings on the matter. What are your thoughts?”

“You want _me_ to speak? I’m _honored_.”

“As the subject of our discussion, I thought you would feel inclined to weigh in.”

“You obviously both feel very…strongly about this.” Hawke breathed through her nose and watched the air puff around her face.

“Purely intellectual debate, I assure you.” Dorian said in a tone that did not assure her in the slightest. “Though you’ll have to excuse my bias. I’ve had personal experience in the matter.”

“As have I.” Hawke held up an arm.

“I meant the consequences.” Dorian raised a brow. “They have a tendency to bite the people I’ve known in the ass, regardless of intent. I’d prefer no blood magic at all, frankly.”

“You’re not the first to say it, you won’t be the last.” She lowered her arm, holding her elbows to block off some of the chill. “You want my thoughts? Keep a clean knife.”

“Fair enough.” Dorian sighed. “Some advice of my own? Perhaps try not to be so open about it?”

“Flashy?”

“Indeed.” Dorian grinned. “In the South the Templars aren’t your only enemies.”

“I will agree with Dorian in this.” Solas nodded. “You will not be the blessed Herald forever.”

* * *

"You're not going to be able to hide this forever."

“I’ve done all right ‘til now.”

She hadn’t. Today was proof of that. She sat on Varric’s bed, arm outstretched, letting him peel off one of the bandages from an infected cut.

“We should just ask Blondie to—”

“No.” She cut him off, quiet and firm. “I made a mistake. I won’t make it again. I don’t need a lecture tonight.”

“It’s not just you he’s worried about. I know stuff at home has you on edge but you’re attracting a lot of attention.”

“I’ve been practicing for some time. I think I know _exactly_ how much attention I attract.” She fisted her other hand to feel a newer bandage at her elbow stretch. “I appreciate the reminder though.”

“The Templars are on high alert already. That kind of panic spreads. No need to,” he smeared a foul smelling tincture across the wound and Hawke winced at the burn. “Sorry. No need to make waves.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Hawke said, through her teeth, “am I helping Kirkwall the wrong way. Are the facts too inconvenient?”

Varric looked distinctly unamused. “And cut it out with the guilt shit. I’m not Aveline, you can’t pull that on me. “

“Sorry.” Hawke said, slightly abashed. She swallowed _hard_. If Varric was saying something, things must look bad. He never reprimanded her. “Are you having...am I really making too much noise? Do I need to...lay low for a while?”

“Lay low?” His head shot up. “No. I just,” he rubbed his neck, “ah, come on, don’t make me say it.”

A smile spread over her face, slow as honey. “Varric, are you _concerned_ for me?”

Varric grunted, setting the salve aside and refusing to meet her eyes.

“You _are_ , you big softie.” Hawke punched his shoulder. She immediately regretted the action as a searing pain laced up her arm and down her chest. “Ow.”

Varric gave her _a look_. It said, _You see? This is why I worry._

Some things didn't need saying.

Hawke remembered the words she had told her sister, her mother, what seemed a lifetime ago.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

 

**Cullen and Vivienne**

“Herald.”

Hawke froze at the voice behind her, forcing her muscles into something that she hoped resembled a friendly smile.

Speaking with Madame Vivienne had been her greatest trial since stabilizing the Breach. Vivienne spoke to Hawke in a way people often did when they wanted to verbally spar and found themselves up against someone they believed to be less intelligent than they.

Unfortunately for Vivienne, Hawke could make nearly anything someone said into a joke, even Madame de Fer, the shining example of a Chantry mage. They constantly talked around one another.

 _In circles_ , as it were. Hawke snorted at her own pun. She’d have to tell Varric later.

“What?” Lost in her thoughts she had missed half of what Vivienne had said.

“Your friend, the one responsible for the mess in Kirkwall?"

Hawke tensed, but did not speak. Upon reflection, her inattention may have been for the best.

“Will we find him amongst the mages at Redcliffe?”

“I doubt it.” She bit out. “To be honest, I don’t think he’s very well liked, right now.”

“Yes, inciting a war can do that.”

Hawke opened her mouth, retort hot on her tongue.

“I don’t remember seeing you there, Madame Vivienne.”

The voice came from behind her. Hawke turned her head to catch a brief glimpse of Commander Cullen before focusing on Vivienne again.

“Commander.” Vivienne smiled, almost pleasantly. “Am I only allowed to speak on events I’ve witnessed firsthand? I admit it would certainly limit me.”

“I don’t think I could stop you from having an opinion if I wanted to.” He moved to stand beside Hawke, jaw clenched. “I’m still suggesting you let it go.” His eyes moved to Hawke, “At this point in time.”

Vivienne shrugged and Hawke let out a slow breath.

“It was mere curiosity. I didn’t mean to give the _Herald_ offense.”

Hawke took her words at face value. "You really want to stop offending me? Stop calling me Herald, hm?" She winked.

Vivienne rolled her eyes but did drudge up another smile before waving them away.

"I dont know why you did that but thank you." Hawke broke the tense silence that had settled around them, when they reached the outer gate to the training grounds.

"It was the truth."

Cullen always seemed nervous, talking to her. She supposed that was fair. She didn’t know how to treat him either.

"Anyone who was actually there _knows_ it wasn't one man's fault." He continued, a little more sure when she didn't interrupt with a joke. "It didn't start with Meredith or Orsino, either. The whole city failed."

Hawke gave him a once over. "Maybe we _can_ work together."

Cullen chuckled, a little self-deprecating. "Maker, I hope so. For all our sakes."

* * *

“Glad to see you and Curly talking.”

Varric sat beside her passing her a piece of mostly edible bread. She took it with a grateful nod.

“I still don’t like him.”

“I said talking, not braiding each other’s hair.” He snorted. “Baby steps.”

“Varric.”

He paused, mid-chew and continued speaking with his mouth full. “Uh-oh,” he swallowed. “I know that tone. What’s on your mind?”

“How’s Kirkwall?”

“She finally asks.” He shook his head, looking a little reluctant, a little angry if she read the line of his lips right. “Not great. Better than it would have been. The money helped. You didn’t have to keep sending it.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you really didn’t. There was nowhere to spend it.”

 _The whole city failed._ Her thoughts echoed. She'd only payed attention to the trouble in Kirkwall. Now, leading all these people, seeing how far it spread…with such broken systems...

Maker, where would they even start?

Silence stretched between them.

“I’m not mad.” Varric laid the rest of the loaf aside. “What happened with Blondie, you walking with what was left of the mages...I’d just hoped that'd be the end of it.”

“Sorry I worry you so much.” Hawke leaned slightly, pressing their shoulders together and letting her head rest atop his. “I’m glad you’re still around to bother, at least.”

Varric pulled her hand into his lap and squeezed it tightly, his rough, calloused fingers holding hers.

For a moment, the mark was hidden between their palms.

 

**Iron Bull and Sera**

  
Hawke’s back slammed into a rock and her breath caught in her throat. She coughed to keep it down. Bull joined her a moment later, pants lightly singed. He whooped a laugh.

Hawke looked over the rock, ducking back quickly at the familiar tune of the dragon's piercing cry.

“You know, I’ve killed one of these before.”

Bull laughed. “Only one?”

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed, you..." Hawke breathed hard through her nose. "Damn! What was it?"

"Krem been teaching you dirty words again?"

"I had the _perfect_ insult lined up, I swear!"

"Sure, boss."

Somewhere behind their safety rock, the dragon shrieked again. Hawke felt the rock at her back heat alarmingly fast and Bull looked at her with wide, excited eyes.

“You bag this one and drinks are on me!” He thumbed over his shoulder.

Hawke licked her lips, fear and excitement warring for control of the smile on her face.

“Let’s go!”

* * *

Hawke had to stand on a chair to toast Bull who had  _technically_ landed the killing blow. Things got a little…wobbly during her speech, but by the time Dalish and Krem helped her down, she still had a firm grip on her drink. She counted that a win.

Across the room Varric was teaching Cole Wicked Grace for what had to be the seventh time, while Blackwall looked on, his expression tinged with amusement and sympathy in equal measure. Anders hadn't been very good either. Maybe it was a spirit thing?

She didn't have long to dwell on it as Krem and Sera and pulled her into round of loud singing, aided by Bull's off-pitch bass and Sera's more colorful vocabulary. Varric caught Hawke's eye, at one point, his expression begging her to stop. She grinned wickedly, more yelling than singing at this point, and watched him cover his ears.

For a moment she felt like she was back at the Hanged Man.

It was only a short hour later, Hawke found herself tripping up the stairs of _very much not_ the Hanged Man, leaning on Sera for support.

"Your room is so fluffy." Hawke attempted to say. What came out was somewhat less coherent.

"All right, sleep it off, ya cow." Sera dropped her unceremoniously on one side of her nook and fell with a thud to the other.

Hawke smiled, curling around Sera's foot and falling asleep in her room of forever fluffy pillows.

* * *

Hawke woke with less pillows and more headache.

Varric watched her, amused.

“This isn’t my room.” She rasped out, running a dry tongue over her cracked lips.

“Mine was closer.” He stood, brushing off his knees. “I had Bull carry you, but even he refused those crazy steps.”

She grinned, attempting coy and probably landing somewhere near devilish. ”Did you like my singing?"

“You seem back to your old self.” Varric smiled back, aiming for devilish on _purpose_ though the expression shifted into something…fond when he leaned over her. “You looked happy.”

The _finally_ seemed to go unspoken. She thought about the past few weeks.  
“I feel happy.”

He kept staring at her, like he wasn't sure what he was looking for. She felt the corner of her mouth lift in an awkward smile.

“I’d be happier without a headache.” She looked away with an unattractive laugh.

Varric scratched the top of her head, a familiar movement and one long missed. She purred, a little exaggerated, and smiled with her eyes closed.

“I’ll get you a tonic.”

 

**Josephine and Cole**

"That one."

The dress in front of Hawke was a dark purple, almost red, and what it lacked in frills it made up for in length. It wasn't a chore to wear and well-made on top of that.

It looked just like one her mother used to love.

Josephine stared between Hawke's outstretched hand and the dress, expression warring between guilt and an almost manic glee.

Guilt won in the end.

"I only said we need you to _properly_ represent the Inquisition." Josephine said as though speaking to an angry horse. "You don’t _have_ to wear a dress, necessarily—"

"That one.”

* * *

“Looks the same, but it isn’t hers."

Cole found her in the library, one of the seemingly abandoned parts of the Palace. He had a habit of popping up in odd places.

"Mother would have stitched the sleeves better.”

Hawke's fingers froze on the book spines.

 _Get out. Get out. Get out._ She thought, desperately.

"I made you sad.”

She had _not_ been thinking about mother or the dress since she put it on. Now it was all she could do _not_ to.

“Cole.”

"Yes?"

_Not his fault, be gentle, what would mother, Bethany, Varric say?_

“Don’t say stuff about them out loud, okay?”

Cole nodded quietly. Hawke joined him, overlooking the masked crowd.

"Can you use your…trick on them?" She pointed down. "Im looking for anything on the people I talked to earlier. Think you can help me find something?”

“I can try.”

"For as much as you _try_ me, I’m sure you’ll succeed." Hawke chuckled.

She briefly wondered if Cole had a grasp on puns, yet. She hoped not. That one was weak, even by her imprecise standards.

“I thought it was funny.”

“...thanks, Cole.”

* * *

Hawke looked down from her spot on the balcony. If she jumped, she may break both her ankles, but she could probably hobble away safely enough. No one would know she was gone.

Varric leaned heavily on the railing beside her. “Wanna start heading back? He thumbed towards the doors. "I’m sure I can convince Ruffles to let us skip out early.”

Hawke pouted, chin in hand. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

"Doesn't seem right, us saving the Empire and all." Varric mimicked her position. “How does a place so full of shit stay so pristine?”

Hawke laughed through her teeth. Inside, another song, faster and more jovial than the one she had danced to with Grand Duchess Florianne, started up.

"You drunk enough to move a leg?” She turned her smile to him.

Varric balked. “Is _that_ why you’ve been plying me with this cheap Orlesian shit? I saw you out there earlier. It’s gonna take more than that.” Hawke shrugged. “How okay are you with getting that dress filthy?”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Varric?”

Five minutes later she was losing more money than she probably had in a rigged game of Diamondback and dirtying her dress on the finest stones in Orlais.

Oh well, at least she’d been proper to a point.

 

**Blackwall and Thom Rainier**

_Why am I ever surprised?_

Hawke stared down her nose into the face of Thom Rainier and felt…resigned. Someone had betrayed her. Lied to her. _Again_. She wondered, briefly, how Isabela was faring. Felt momentarily guilty for the letter from Anders still lying, unread, on her desk.

Leliana coughed into her hand. This was an act normally reserved for Josephine, but the ambassador’s jaw was clenched too tight for any such sound to escape. She stood ramrod straight, gaze steady on their prisoner.

"Blackwall intended you join the Wardens.” Hawke sat up a little straighter. “I will let them decide your fate. _After_ Corypheus is dead. For now, Thom Rainier, The Inquisition needs you.”

Blackwall…Thom sagged under the weight of relief.

“As you Command.”

Anders had told her a little of the Wardens. The rest she knew from stories. “I'm told not all survive the Joining. And the life of a true Warden is difficult.”

“If I die, It will be no less than I deserve. And If I live, I'll make it count. I am grateful for," Hawke stood, dismissing the guards beside her and effectively silencing the man in front of her.

"I don't know why you're thanking me." She held his shoulder when she reached him, leaned in to speak softly. "You realise you’ll still have to _speak_ to them?"

His eyes landed on Josephine and he stilled under her hand.

“I will serve for as long as I can.”

Hawke’s grip tightened, then released.

* * *

Hawke threw another spell at Cassandra and felt it sucked from the air before it had the chance to form. The Seeker barely had to try but Hawke wasn’t surprised to see her step falter; they had been at this for a little over an hour. Cassandra was happy to channel her aggression towards something other than a straw doll.

Everyone was taking it hard.

Hawke watched Varric watch them from the corner of her eye. He didn’t look happy.

“You need a break.” Hawke said, shifting into a more relaxed stance.

Cassandra took a steadying breath. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“I’m your boss now. I think that’s a guarantee.” Hawke winked. “Take five, at least.”

Cassandra nodded, resting against the wall and reaching down for her water skin.

When Hawke looked over her shoulder, Varric was gone.

* * *

The Inquisition had provided Hawke with a nice writing desk, bigger than she needed. She was not one to mark maps, and when she needed a letter sent, she almost always went to Varric. Still, it was a  _nice_ desk.

She sat on it, now, holding a folded piece of paper and looking at Anders’ name scrawled along the outside. Varric paced the room a few feet away.

“Blackwall?” She turned her attention from the groove he wore into the floor. “You’re mad about Blackwall?”

“His name,” Varric enunciated each word, “is Thom Rainier.”

“I’m surprised you’re so…vehement on the subject.”

“He lied to you,” Varric’s jaw tightened. “Us, Hawke. How can you just accept what he did?"

“I didn’t accept it. He’ll go to the Wardens.” She looked back down, flipping the letter over in her hands. “He’ll be their problem.”

Varric tapped a finger on his leg. He desperately wanted to say something.

_Go on. What are you trying to say?_

"You want me to what? Put him away?” She lowered her voice. “Kill him?”

“What, no!”

“Who am I really punishing? Anders? Myself? It's not going to help." She put the letter down. “People lie. They make mistakes. It's what they do."

Varric looked uncomfortable. "You can't just...start thinking that about people."

And there it was, her thoughts in reverse.

_He lied to you. Someone hurt you, again._

_I don’t want you to stop trusting people._

_What if you stop trusting me? Where will I be then, Hawke?_

Varric was usually cleaning up the mess in their friendship, but Hawke was pretty sure she could get this one right.

"I don't think that about everyone.” She assured him. “I don't think that about you."

Varric sat heavily in one of the many, unnecessary chairs, the fight seeming to leave him all at once.

“Well…all right.”

 

**Varric**

Alistair was good in a fight; hardy and unflinching, but they were out of healing poultices and down to their knees. Hawke had sworn to herself she would not use blood magic here. There was no telling what kind of power this demon held.

But damned if it was a hard promise to remember.

“We are none of us leaving this place dead! Understand me?”

“I mean, it could have been worded more eloquently but,” Alistair lifted a shoulder, then quickly dropped it when Hawke rounded on him. “Not dead. Leaving now. Understood!”

And, indeed, it was Alistair who stumbled out first, dragging her out behind him. She wanted to make some wry comment about that, but her energy was sapped and had left her wits thick and dull.

She felt herself pulled forward by the lapels and Varric’s voice cut through the syrup of her mind.

“Are you all right?”

She fell forward, and he supported her, as he so often did.

“Say ‘I’m all right’, Hawke, say it!”

She kissed him instead.

It wasn’t a particularly interesting kiss, beyond the fact that it was happening in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by corpses and demon ash (and during the Blight, those were a dime a dozen). The air had left their lips dry and there was no tongue because it lasted just long enough to let Varric know, ‘This is a kiss and, no, I didn’t trip and land this way’.

“Sorry I think I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” is what Hawke intended to say.

What was heard to those around her was: “Hnng.”

And then she fell over.

* * *

Hawke woke with her heart beating high in her throat. She couldn’t remember her dream now, and was glad for it.

She had enough to think about without worrying about phantoms in her bed.

A still damp cloth slid off of her head and she, likewise, slid out of bed, catching the cloth before it hit the floor. She didn’t understand why people left these on her forehead. It didn’t cool her, it didn’t comfort. She tossed it into a basin and continued outside.

A healer stood at her door, poultice in one hand, new cloth in the other. Hawke gave it a flat stare.

“You should not be up, your worship!”

Hawke shook out one leg, then the other. “I’m a quick mender. Please move, I’d like,” she stopped herself from saying _a drink_ in front of the healer and went with, “some fresh air.”

“I suppose if you can walk around...”

“Now you’re understanding!” Hawke clapped her on the shoulder as she moved to one side.

* * *

Hawke examined the sword gifted to her by the Inquisition, ceremonial and completely useless. She tossed it to the side, watching her reflection bounce in the grass..

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Hawke half-turned from where she sat. Varric kept a leisurely pace up the hill, taking a seat next to her when he reached the top.

“Nightmares.”

“Ah.” He nodded. "Anything you want to talk about?”

“Can’t remember.” She grinned. “Must not have been too frightening.”

Hawke leaned back, plucking out a few blade of grass and tossing them into his lap. To Varric’s credit, he only raised an eyebrow.

"Do you smell that?" Hawke asked and heard him sniff the air. "Everything smells like its burning."

"I heard that smells can sometimes get trapped on your nose hairs."

"You know the weirdest things..." She let out a great breath, turning her face up. “I might _die_ soon, you know? This might _actually_ kill me.”

"You can’t say that.” She watched Varric’s jaw tense from the corner of her eye.

“I’m just trying to be realistic.” She laughed, a short, humourless sound. “I _lived_ your book. It wasn’t very pretty. And… my habits haven’t gotten any neater.”

“I know, Hawke!” Varric rubbed his temples. “I was there, remember? I’ve been there for every decision you’ve made.”

"You have." She ribbed him, reaching for a calm she didn't feel anymore. "What are you still sticking around for?"

Varric was quiet for so long, that it startled her when he began to speak.

“Before you got dragged into this shit I just thought,” Varric held his hands up, “enough. We've beaten our bad guys, let someone else have a go.” He shook his head. “But...you're right. Those old habits.”

Hawke blinked, looking at the ground. In truth, she hadn't expected him to _answer_. It wasn’t the _sort_ of question you answered.

“When you were in the Fade, I had this thought. What if she _doesn’t_ come back?" His voice was softer, his eyes distant; an expression rarely seen on Varric. But Hawke knew it well enough.

"I don’t know why, I’ve seen the worst the world has to throw at you and...somehow you always bounce back. I think part of me started to think you were invincible, too. But, for that little while, I thought you could be dead and I couldn’t stand it."

"I'm sorry." Hawke pulled her shoulders in. "I wasn't trying to make light I just..."

Varric watched her struggle for a moment and sighed. "I…think we're both a little shaken.”

"...are you going to ask me about the other thing?"

His brows knitted then raised. "Oh. No, I wasn’t."

"Okay."

Hawke would admit to feeling a little disappointed, though only to herself. She was the _Inquisitor_. She was _sure_ she didn’t have time to consider things like second kisses or what her best friend would look like naked.

They spent the evening on the hill, talking until it was dark. And, true to his word, he didn't ask.

That night, she didn’t dream at all.

* * *

Many things happened. When Varric told the tale it would be a sweeping narrative, beautiful and grandiose. Hawke's account was somewhat more laconic.

She beat Corypheus, saved the world, and she didn't die.

The festivities at Skyhold were loud enough, large enough, to be remembered but, in honesty, she was ready to go home. Or what home she had pieced together for herself in Kirkwall, anyway. She knew Varric would want to see it again soon. Perhaps they'd start sowing their guilt there and work their way around. Convince Anders or, Maker forbid, Isabela to settle in one place for a season.

She smiled to herself. She’d worry about that when they got to it. She had time now, after all.

Hawke would set her staff down; cast off the Inquisition. Corypheus was dead. The sky was whole.

It was done.

Varric found her hiding on the steps outside of the main hall and, silently, handed her a drink.

“Cole tell you where I was?”

“You want to be alone?”

“No.” She took a long swig of her drink and winced at the bitter aftertaste. “What is this?”

“I just grabbed one of the bottles.” He bent down to sniff at her cup. “I don’t think Ruffles is sober enough to pass them out anymore.”

Hawke smiled at that, standing with a stretch.

"I always knew you were going to beat him."

 _Of course you did._ She thought with no little fondness. _My trusty dwarf._

"Always?" She challenged aloud.

"Sure, why do you think I didn’t ask?"

"What?"

She had half a second to consider his words before she was dragged down into a kiss.

This one was far more interesting.

Her face was cupped between his hands, her breath caught in his mouth at the feel of rough callouses on his palm. She brought her own hands to the nape of his neck, and the fine hairs there, folding herself around him until they fell, laughing on the too-hard steps.

Varric leaned in to kiss her again, something small and gentle, familiar and warm.

Hawke pulled away first, smiling and stunned.

"You had the story all backwards, Hawke." Varric said, after he managed to set himself to rights beside her. "I'm not sure why I'm surprised. All the books at your estate seemed good for was collecting dust."

"And writing lewd poetry in the margins!" Hawke corrected, recovering "Maybe I should consult with Cassandra. She seems to have some expertise."

Varric laughed. "Please don’t, I don’t want her idea of romance infecting you."

"Then you tell me." She motioned with an arm, letting him take charge of the conversation. "Where did I go wrong?"

"At the _end_ , after the hero overcomes insurmountable odds, beats the unbeatable, _then_ they get the kiss.”

“Varric,” Hawke held his shoulders to get a better look at him. “Please tell me you weren't waiting to do that thing with your tongue because it didn't fit into some grand narrative in your head.”

Varric laughed right in her face and she would have felt a little insulted if he hadn't turned a deep red at her words. He scratched his neck, thinking a while before he spoke. "You were about to fight Corypheus. Again.”

She was going to tease him for his lack of faith, then it struck her. They were selfish people, she thought, who had already lost too much in the past ten years. But they still had each other, side-by-side to the bitter end. Losing Varric would destroy something inside her the way little pieces had broken off with Bethany and Carver and her mother. Hawke had seen Varric after Bartrand and he didn't even like him very much. She didn't know what kind of person Varric would become, losing her, but she guessed it would be a person she wouldn't like very much.

What if he had said something, after Adamant? Let her tell him _why_ she had kissed him? What if something had happened to them? It couldn't have been any worse than losing your best friend, but still, better to hide it, bury it, just in case.

Varric hadn't said anything for the same reason she hadn't, when she had the chance.

_Not selfish. Scared._

Instead of any of this, she said: "No dessert until after you finish your quest." And snorted.

Varric laughed. "Just so." He reached for her hand and Hawke let him take it in his.

"It's a better reward than that blasted sword, at least." She blew out a hard breath. "Do heroes _always_ get handsome dwarves to kiss if they do well?"

"We're kept in reserve, for the special ones."

“Like fine wine." She said playfully and took a delicate sip of her drink. "Ah, shit…” She reluctantly let go of Varric’s hand, pulling herself up far enough to spit over the bannister of the stairs. “I forgot this is garbage."

"C'mon let's get you the good stuff.” He stood, motioning inside. ”It's supposed to be your party anyway."

"Varric,” she lifted a brow, “every party is my party."

His shoulders shook in silent laugher. "Uh-huh."

Hawke hesitated before taking hold of his hand again, holding him back. “Varric,”

“Hm?”

“What happens to the hero after this?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Happy ending?”

Hawke laughed, alarmed at the sentiment. “Happy ending?”

“Well you asked.” He said, a touch defensive. “You ever imagine that for yourself?”

“Never.” She admitted, a little reluctantly. “You?”

“Oh, Maker no.” He scoffed and, after a moment added, “I always pictured it for you though.”

Could she see herself happy enough ten years from now? No, probably not. A blurry image filled the place of her future. Knowing her lot in life, that wasn’t always a bad thing. But, Varric...

Well, yes. Varric. She could see him happy.

“I know the feeling.” She smiled. “Let’s find something to drink.”


End file.
